


Breathing Space

by wesleysgirl



Category: Firefly
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 17:05:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4357358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For: Mei / <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-deleted i-ljuser-type-P"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://inviolet.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://inviolet.livejournal.com/"></a><b>inviolet</b><br/>Male character they want paired with Mal: Simon<br/>Things they want in the fic:  "Seven months and fifteen days", someone<br/>unable to keep from eyeing the narrow strip of skin that lies between<br/>a waistband and a rucked-up shirt, a lie<br/>Things they *don't* want in the fic: inexperienced!Simon, mpreg</p>
<p>Many thanks to <span class="ljuser i-ljuser i-ljuser-type-P"></span><a class="i-ljuser-profile" href="http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/"></a><b>janedavitt</b> for the beta!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Breathing Space

**Author's Note:**

> For: Mei / [](http://inviolet.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://inviolet.livejournal.com/)**inviolet**  
>  Male character they want paired with Mal: Simon  
> Things they want in the fic: "Seven months and fifteen days", someone  
> unable to keep from eyeing the narrow strip of skin that lies between  
> a waistband and a rucked-up shirt, a lie  
> Things they *don't* want in the fic: inexperienced!Simon, mpreg
> 
> Many thanks to [](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://janedavitt.livejournal.com/)**janedavitt** for the beta!

They don't see each other as often as they used to. They're both busy, of course, Simon doing doctorly things and Mal doing what he's always done, and the times they can get together come further and further apart.

The door closes and their clothes come off. They don't need to talk about it; words don't come 'til later, when they've managed to untangle their limbs and catch their breath.

"How's everyone on Serenity?" Simon asks.

"Fine," Mal says. He doesn't want to talk about his ship, not when Simon's not on it.

Simon rolls onto his side, up on one elbow, and looks down at Mal like he knows him too well. It makes Mal feel naked, and usually even being _naked_ doesn't make him feel naked. "How's Zoe?"

"Good. She's good," Mal says. He feels unaccountably annoyed and decides to answer questions Simon hasn't asked yet. "And the new mechanic's workin' out all right. Even Jayne's managing to keep himself out of trouble."

Smiling, Simon trails his fingers across Mal's chest. "I wasn't going to ask about Jayne."

Mal grins back; it just overtakes him with no warning. "No, now that I think about it, I guess you weren't."

"How's River?" Simon's eyes go dark and serious.

"You should know, you talk to her as often as I do. More, sometimes." The girl's turned into a fine pilot -- better than Mal would have dreamed -- and there's no denying her skills come in handy in a fight. He's still surprised Simon agreed to leave her behind when he and Kaylee settled on Greenleaf, but it's a complicated enough situation that he doesn't spend too much time trying to make sense of it. "How's Kaylee?"

He's cussing himself as soon as the words leave his lips -- that's the one question he's not supposed to ask, not when all it does is remind both of them of the wrong in what they're doing.

"She's fine." Simon seems to put an awful lot of thought into those two words, says them carefully.

"And the baby?" Mal's already in deep enough he might as well bury the body.

Simon's face is schooled into a careful expression. Mal doesn't like it. He likes it better when Simon's relaxed, all thoughts of being proper driven from his head. " _Fine_. Could we talk about something else? Please?"

Oh, thank God. Mal knows there are times he needs to be rescued from himself, and distraction's as good a savior as any. And hearing Simon say the word 'please' like that, with his head tilted just a little bit to one side and his blue eyes wide -- well, that's a mighty fine distraction. "Have to admit there're other things I'd like to do besides talking."

"You never were very good with words," Simon tells him, his mouth -- that beautiful, fuckable mouth -- widening into a smile, and he leans in and presses it to Mal's, and that's all it takes for them to be off and running again.

This time they manage something more than the fumbled hand jobs that made up their first round. Simon sucks Mal's cock until Mal wants to shout or hit something or, well, come, but somehow he doesn't seem able to do that last one.

Simon stops finally, resting his chin on Mal's pelvic bone and gazing at him. "You're wound up awfully tight."

Don't seem right to deny it, as much as Mal might like to. "That's usually your department."

"I'd hate to think it was contagious, but under the circumstances..." Simon trails off and bends his head again, pressing his lips to Mal's stomach right over a ridge of scar tissue, which makes Mal shiver just like always. "Should I inoculate you?"

Mal reaches down to cuff him, but it turns into a gentle caress of his hair instead. "You're a brat. Anyone ever tell you that?"

"Yes. You." Simon smiles. "Many times, actually."

"Well, that's because you are." Mal tugs Simon up and kisses that smug look off his face. "Get me in all sorts of trouble," he mutters between kisses. "Ever since you first walked onto my ship."

Simon doesn't try to say anything; just lets Mal roll them over, slender hands clutching at Mal's hips, head thrown back as Mal slides inside him for the first time in seven and a half months. Seven months, fifteen days.

Not that he's been counting.

There are nights on Serenity when this is all he can think about. Simon gasps underneath him, breathy little sounds, hips lifting to meet his thrusts, and it's just about enough to drive Mal crazy.

"Mal."

"Don't you say my name 'less you mean it," he grits out, teeth clenched together because it could be another year or more before he gets to do this again and he means to enjoy it proper-like.

Simon shudders and spreads his thighs wider, turns his head to the side, eyes closed. His lips form Mal's name even if there's no force behind it, and it's all Mal can do not to come right then. A minute later he comes anyway, rutting himself as deep into Simon as he can. As the last of it rolls through him, he fumbles a clumsy hand around Simon's cock and strokes it a couple of times, and Simon tenses and shouts hoarsely and spills all over Mal's hand.

They get food sent up from the bar downstairs. It's barely edible -- the whole place is filthy and Mal had been surprised the first time they'd come here that Simon hadn't turned on his heel and refused to step inside, but he'd underestimated him. He'd done that a lot, actually. Simon just kept on surprising him. Doesn't matter that the food's no good; they're both hungry enough to eat it.

Simon takes a last bite of what's supposed to be bread and lets the rest of it drop down onto his plate. He's sinking into the moodiness that Mal's seen before, though usually it doesn't start to appear until much later at night. "What did you tell everyone on the ship?" he asks finally.

"About what?" Mal says.

"About where you were going today."

"Didn't tell them where I was going. Just that I had business to tend to." It's simple for Mal.

"I told Kaylee I was going to a medical conference." A pause. "So we both lied." Simon's voice is flat, like he isn't sure quite how he feels about that, or maybe like he is but doesn't want to think about it.

"I didn't lie," Mal protests, and Simon gives him a look of disgust and gets up out of bed. "What? I didn't!"

Simon's trying to find his clothes. If Mal hadn't just come hard enough to make his spine ache, he'd be mighty turned on by the sight of Simon's bare ass when he bends down. "So I was just business you had to tend to?" Simon finds his shirt and pulls it on, his movements rough and jerky. "I suppose I can go, then."

Mal leans down and rests his forehead on the mattress for a second or two, wishing there was a way for them to do this without talking, since it's clear that's their biggest problem. "Don't go," he says. It's like pulling teeth, getting the words out.

"I don't see why I shouldn't." When Mal looks up again, Simon's fastening his pants. "It's obvious you only want me for one thing, and we're done now, so you don't need me anymore."

Sitting up, Mal swings his legs off the bed until his feet touch the floor. "Didn't realize this was a conversation about need."

"No, well, you don't like to have those kinds of conversations, do you." Simon bends over again to pick up his boots. His shirt's not tucked in, and it rides up, baring the strip of skin between lower back and ass that Mal sometimes finds himself staring at while fucking him. There's a freckle there; it's light brown, but the rest of Simon's skin is pale enough that it shows up anyway. "Where the..." His throat works as he fights the urge to curse. "Where is my other sock?"

Mal actually looks around, trying to be helpful, before he remembers he doesn't want Simon to leave. "I don't know. Look, you just got here --"

"And you don't want me to go, yes, I heard you the first time." But Simon stops, straightens up. "Wait. You --"

"I don't want you to go," Mal says again.

Simon comes over to the bed and sits down next to Mal. He leans forward and sets his boots down on the floor, gentle so they don't make much of a sound. He's like that with his hands, careful, talented. Mal knows, intimately, what those hands feel like on his body. "I don't think you've ever said that before." Simon's voice is soft.

"And now I said it twice." Mal can't quite bring himself to touch Simon's leg, but he drops his hand down between them, lets his knuckles brush against Simon's pants.

"I don't. You've never." Simon stops and starts like his regulator's flirting with failure. "I don't know what to say."

"That might be a first," Mal tells him. "You didn't think I was going to all this trouble to see you because I can't stand the sight of you?"

Simon swallows and shakes his head, staring down at his hands. When he finally looks at Mal, his face is wide open, broken. "I don't know what I thought. I don't -- I don't know what we're doing."

Mal's not a hugger -- God knows he's not -- but he has to do something. He puts one hand on Simon's back, where his shirt's still rucked up, his skin warm against Mal's palm, and with the other he touches Simon's face. "Don't you?" he asks, and kisses him, deep and powerful, on the mouth, until Simon gives a little sigh and relaxes into it.

Then Mal does all the things he should done a long time ago. Romantic things like kissing Simon's neck slowly, like whispering in his ear until he blushes, like undressing him and running hands along his bared skin teasingly. Simon's body is masculine, and he's deceptively strong, muscles hard and toned.

Until Simon, Mal's inclinations always leaned toward women. It'd taken him months to realize that the dull, nagging ache in his gut whenever he thought about the doctor wasn't the dislike he'd immediately taken it for, but something else; a stubborn attraction that wouldn't quit no matter how much he tried to talk himself out of it. Finding out that it wasn't one-sided had been a big enough shock that he'd made up his mind to avoid Simon entirely, a resolution that had lasted all of half an hour. Then he'd marched into the infirmary, walked Simon backwards 'til he'd hit the wall, and kissed him so hard he was convinced he'd bruised his lips.

They'd never managed to stop, not even when things between Simon and Kaylee had got more serious. When Kaylee'd turned up pregnant, it'd seemed like the best thing for all concerned for her and Simon to settle down, somewhere they could raise a family.

Well. The best thing for _almost_ all concerned.

Simon blinks when Mal takes his face between both hands and kisses him gently, then asks, "Did you hit your head when I wasn't looking?"

Mal feigns confusion. "What?"

"This doesn't... this isn't like you." Simon finds it puzzling, that's clear. "Where's the real Malcolm Reynolds?"

"I'm right here," Mal tells him. He rubs a thumb across one of Simon's cheekbones and searches his eyes, hoping the doc'll see something there, something that'll reassure him. "'m right here."

God knows there's nowhere else he'd rather be.  


  
  
  


_Crossposted to[](http://maleslashminis.livejournal.com/profile)_[ **maleslashminis**](http://maleslashminis.livejournal.com/) [here](http://community.livejournal.com/maleslashminis/110899.html?format=light).


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